The Misfortunes of Others (7 page)

“I hear you. What’s this one, Weeze?”

“What does it look like to you?”

“It looks like …” Snooky paused. “Like a fish having sex with an antelope.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much. It’s called ‘Harmony III.’ ”

“How about this one? This looks like a fish having sex with a bear.”

“Interesting.” Weezy chewed her lower lip and studied the painting. “Interesting. Yes, possibly.”

“And this one over here is Queen Catherine of Russia having sex with a horse?”

“Fascinating. Fascinating. Sad, of course, but fascinating. Have you ever done any Rorschach work?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you, Snooks, but none of these paintings have anything to do with sex.”

“Hard to believe.”

“I mean, you can interpret them any way you want, particularly if you pay me large sums of money, but sex was not on my mind while I was creating them.”

“I see.”

“Sex is always on Snooky’s mind,” said Maya. “He thinks of nothing else.”

“That’s not true. Occasionally I also think about wine.”

“Wine, women and song,” said Weezy. “That’s what a boy your age should be thinking about. You’re right on schedule, Snooky.”

“Weezy understands me. She understands me in a way you never have, Missy. Why couldn’t she have been my sister instead?”

“A tragic accident of fate,” said Maya. “Weezy, I love these new paintings. They’re gorgeous. A whole different side of you, much softer and happier. You must be feeling better,
and I’m glad to see it. Now please excuse me. I have to go outside and throw up.”

Bernard was sitting in his lounge chair, his head bent back at an awkward angle, mouth open, snoring happily, when the phone rang. Weezy had rigged up the phone line so that it rang loudly in the greenhouse, next to the deck, and nowhere else in the house. This allowed her to work undisturbed in the studio. “Nothing worse than hearing the phone while you’re working,” she had told Bernard once. “Even if you don’t answer it, you have to wonder who it was.”

Bernard himself dealt with this problem by never answering his phone at all, at any time of day, whether he was working or not. He had never once wondered who it was. However, after the fourth ring he reluctantly opened his eyes and heaved himself out of his chair. Some vestigial impulse told him that Maya would want him to answer Weezy’s phone.

He went through the greenhouse into the living room and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

There was silence on the other end: a living, breathing silence. It was not the sound of a disconnected line. Bernard had the distinct feeling that someone was there.

He did not say “hello” again. Neither did he hang up. Instead, he stood with the phone to his ear and waited.

The person on the other end was silent. Bernard smiled grimly. Maya had told him about the strange goings-on with Weezy’s phone. He figured that this time the caller was in for a little surprise. Unlike most other people, Bernard loved silence. He could wait for hours like this if necessary.

Finally, after several long minutes had crawled past, he could hear a faint hiss on the other end. It did not even sound human. It sounded alien and malevolent. Bernard felt a slight chill. There was a gentle
click
as the caller hung up.

Bernard put the receiver down. He stood for a moment, thinking. Then he picked it up and rapidly dialed *69.

There was a pause and a click. A recorded female voice came on.

“
This service cannot be activated because the telephone number is not in our service area
.”

Bernard slowly put the receiver down. He was standing there, his mind far away, when Maya and the others came into the room.

“Sweetheart,” said Maya. “I got queasy all of a sudden. It’s not a comment on Weezy’s paintings, they’re marvelous. What’s the matter?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re staring at the phone as if you’ve never seen one before.”

Bernard fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Weezy. You got one of those calls just now.”

“Oh, shit,” said Weezy. “And you picked up?”

“Yes.”

Maya stared at him. “But, sweetheart, you
never
answer the phone.”

“I thought you’d want me to. I know you can’t hear it in the studio.”

“What happened?” asked Snooky eagerly.

“I said hello. Whoever it was didn’t say anything. So I didn’t say anything either.”

“You hung up?” said Weezy.

“No.”

“You didn’t hang up?”

“No. I waited.”

“You waited. How very interesting and strange of you,” said Weezy. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Silence. Then, after a couple of minutes, the person hissed.”

“Hissed?” echoed Maya.

“Hissed. A low kind of hiss. I think whoever it was was frustrated,” Bernard said. “I think they were surprised.”

“Hissed,” said Snooky. “That’s creepy.”

“Was it a male or a female hiss?” asked Maya.

“I couldn’t tell. Then, when they hung up, I tried to call them back.”

“Pardon me?” said Weezy.

Bernard pointed to her phone. “I dialed star sixtynine. You know. It calls back the last person who called you.”

“How amazing. My phone will do that?”

“You’ve never done it?”

“Never done it? I’ve never even heard of it. Am I paying for it? Does it work?”

“Oh, it works all right. But the caller is outside our area code, so I got a recording. That’s reassuring, actually, we know it’s not someone next door. Are you sure that nobody’s ever said anything to you before? No sound at all?”

“No, no. Not even breathing.” She shook her head. “Of course, they never had the opportunity. I’ve never stayed on the line for more than a few seconds.”

“So it isn’t a glitch in your phone line,” Snooky said. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

“Any idea who it could be?” asked Bernard.

“No. None. Probably just a prankster who got hold of my number somehow.”

Maya sat down on the sofa. She looked faintly green. “I feel funny again.”

“All this talk about phone calls and hissing is upsetting you,” Weezy said, throwing an accusing glance at the two men. “Hissing, indeed! It was probably just static. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Can I get you something?” Bernard asked his wife.

“I’d like … I’d like a carrot. Yes. A nice carrot, and a glass of seltzer. Do you have seltzer, Weezy?”

“Of course. Give me a second.” She vanished into the kitchen.

“I just want to go on record as saying that it’s not the phone call,” Maya said. “I mean, I’m upset about the phone call, but that’s not why I’m feeling this way. I ate too much at dinner, I suppose.”

“Punished for eating too much,” her brother said sympathetically. He sat down next to her and patted her hand.

Weezy came back into the room. “One very nice carrot. And a glass of seltzer with ice.”

“Thank you.”

“How many of these calls have you gotten, Weezy?” asked Bernard.

She wrinkled her forehead. “Snooky asked me that the other day. I don’t know. Four or five. Maybe five.”

“When did they start?”

“I’m not sure, really. Six months ago. About that. Yes, last fall sometime. After that article came out. A couple of months after I moved here.”

“You never got any when you lived in New York?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Any reason somebody might not have liked it when you moved away?”

Weezy stared at him in surprise. “No. None that I can think of. I mean, my students have to travel farther, but they don’t seem to care.”

“Are you sure?” asked Snooky.

She tapped one foot impatiently. “Yes, Snooky, I’m sure. My students are not the shy type—at least most of them aren’t. If something was bothering them, they wouldn’t be calling me up mysteriously on the phone. They’d tell me all about it in
front of the whole class. That’s usually how they share their innermost thoughts and feelings, I assure you.”

“Anybody with any grudges against you?” asked Bernard.

“No, Bernard. Nobody has any grudges against me. I am, as you may have noticed, an extremely nice person. Nobody dislikes me. Everybody likes me. I go out of my way to make other people happy. Now, can we discuss something else, or am I going to be grilled on this all night? How’s that carrot, Maya?”

“Fine. I feel better, thanks.”

“Is your phone number listed?” asked Bernard.

Weezy nodded.

“Perhaps you should consider getting an unlisted number.”

“Thank you, Bernard. That way nobody could get in touch with me—including gallery owners who want to show my work, or clients who want to commission a painting, or students who want to take my class. It wouldn’t exactly be a boost to my career if nobody knew how to find me, would it? And now, enough about all this. If the phone rings again, don’t answer it. I’ll put the machine on. I have to put the machine on, otherwise my mother calls and thinks I’m dead. All right, now we can all rest easy. Would anyone like some more coffee or tea?”

“Weezy’s worried,” Maya told her husband later that night, as they got ready for bed.

“I know.”

“I’m worried, too.”

“I know you are.”

“Are you worried?”

Bernard was brushing his teeth. “Yadonnowattoyink,” he said indistinctly.

“Pardon me?”

Bernard spat into the sink. “I don’t know what to think.”

“It’s strange, though, isn’t it?”

“It could be nothing. It could be somebody who’s playing around with phone numbers and likes the look of Weezy’s.”

“But you don’t think it is, do you?”

Bernard stared into the bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back at him with tired eyes. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

Snooky knocked at Weezy’s front door a few days later, then let himself in. Nobody in Ridgewood—nobody except Bernard, that is, and then only occasionally—ever locked their doors. He was carrying a small package under his arm. He walked, whistling, down the hallway toward the studio.

“Weezy? It’s me.”

The studio door opened and he was confronted by a stranger: a heavyset young woman with a round moon face and brown hair which hung in strings down to her shoulders. She looked at him in surprise. “Yes?”

“I’m Snooky Randolph. A friend of Weezy’s. Is she around?”

“Oh … oh, yes. She’s in the garden.”

“Are you one of her students?”

She smiled shyly. “Yes. My name’s Nikki. Nikki Cooper.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was an awkward silence. She looked at him anxiously, as if begging him to say something.

“Do you come from around here?” asked Snooky at last.

“No … no. I live in New York City. I come up here for the classes, and sometimes in between to work with her on my own.”

“I heard that she was giving classes. What kind of a teacher is she?”

The girl looked slightly scandalized. “Oh, she’s wonderful,” she began, when Weezy swept in, freshly cut daffodils filling her arms, her hair bright with sticks of grass and weeds.

“Gossiping about me, are you?” she said cheerfully.

“Oh, no—”

“Yes,” said Snooky. “I was just asking what kind of teacher you are.”

“I am a brilliant teacher,” said Weezy. “Absolutely brilliant. My students are devoted to me. Aren’t you all, Nikki?”

“Oh, yes, of course we are, Weezy,” the girl said.

“Will one of you please find me a vase, so I can put these flowers down?”

Nikki vanished into the studio and came out with a wide-mouthed green glass jar. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect.” Weezy began to arrange the flowers. “Gorgeous, aren’t they? The first of the crop. King Alfred, large yellow trumpet. That’s how they were described in the bulb catalogue I ordered them from last fall. And look, here they are, blooming out back. A host of yellow daffodils. What is that you’re holding there, Snooky? It looks suspiciously like a present.”

“You’ve guessed it. A gift from my sister.”

Weezy was delighted. She took the package and began to tear at the paper. “A gift? How wonderful. But why?”

“She said it’s to thank you for the baby’s nursery.”

“Oh, that’s silly. But how wonderful of her. What is it? I love gifts, I can’t wait. It’s … it’s …” She lifted a pair of ceramic candlesticks from the pink tissue paper. They were an antique Italian design, with red and blue flowers. She was ecstatic. “I love them. You must tell her how perfect they are. Maya knows my taste. She knows I have a thing for candlesticks.
I can’t get enough of them. I must have ten different pairs. Let me see now. How will these look here?… hmmmm … I can’t wait to see how they look with candles in them. But right now, Nikki, back to work. How are you getting along with that drawing? All right? Good. I’ll be back in the studio in a minute. As for you, Snooky, thank you so much. Now please get out of my house. I can’t concentrate on work when there’s visitors around. Give your sister a kiss for me. How’s she feeling?”

“About the same.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. Give her a kiss. Now shoo.”

“Any more strange phone calls, Weezy?”

“No, thank God. Don’t the three of you have anything better to think about? Tell Maya to stop fussing over me, it’s ridiculous. Now shoo, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

On his way to the front door, Snooky nearly bumped into a young woman who was hurrying down the hall with a leather portfolio in her hand. She pulled back and drew herself up regally. She was almost as tall as he was, which put her at close to six feet. She had silky black hair which fell to her waist, and a proud face with strong features. Her dark eyes regarded him with distaste, as if he were some kind of strange insect which she had found devouring her rose bushes. “Who are
you?
”

Snooky felt vaguely miffed by her tone. “Who are you?” he responded.

“You’re not a new student, are you?”

“No.”

“Then who are you?”

“Don’t you recognize me from TV?”

The contempt in her eyes slowly increased as she stared at him. “No,” she said. “Should I?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“This is pathetic,” said Weezy, standing in the door of the studio with her arms crossed. “Pathetic. Two young people, supposedly adults, unable to manage the most basic introduction. Jennifer, may I present my friend Snooky Randolph. Snooky, this is a student of mine, Jennifer Zalinsky. You’re late, Jennifer. Nikki’s been here for half an hour already.”